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Unknown Soldier · (08-29-2016)

Black Phillip, Black Phillip
A crown grows out his head,
Black Phillip, Black Phillip
To nanny queen is wed.
Jump to the fence post,
Running in the stall.
Black Phillip, Black Phillip
King of all.

Black Phillip, Black Phillip
King of sky and land,
Black Phillip, Black Phillip
King of sea and sand.
We are ye servants,
We are ye men.
Black Phillip eats the lions
From the lions' den.

--Robert Eggers

She began twisting the Six inch metal cross that hung from her neck in a counterclockwise motion almost a Hundred times; in a very feverish and agitated manner until it grasped at the tip of the skin at the edge of her throat. Her body language almost giving itself away that she wanted to cry out with her words, but was instead choking herself to save them from traveling from up her throat and out through her lips. Tying a knot around her esophagus and holding the cross of her holy lord to keep her from screaming out in Sin from the tiny blemish of blackness in the deepest and darkest bottom of her ever beating heart. The oxygen starved middle aged woman grips tightly to the silver piece of jewelry around her neck, and once more prays for thine guidance, but the body yearning for breath can no longer hold back its need to inhale. Her big and beautiful bright blue eyes, become more noticeable on her face as it's slowly turns from a pale white to a bright and glowing shade of red.

The bright blue hued pupils dancing around in her eye sockets around her bright red face, stick out abnormally distinctively like a pair of fireflies dancing in the fields of a pitch black moonless night. Her face brightening quickly, as she tightened her grip, due to the horrible words she's trying to hold back from escaping the tip of her tongue by strangling herself. Releasing from her clasp and untangling itself Sixty Six more times as the chain necklace holding the cross around her neck unwraps itself, and almost immediately and with a full and resounding commanding voice as the tip of this chain touching the skin at the tip of her neck releases, she expels these wretched words from her lips in a very dark and maniacal sort of manner.

"His name is SIMON!"

"Yeah, alright whatever mom, Fuck you! You don't need to scream at us. His name is Simon, take it easy jesus christ."

From the back seat over her left shoulder came a voice from that of a teenage boy. Smart ass attitude and foul mouth. Short and raspy, but yet deep and bellowing enough to know that the full stages of puberty had run it's course. She is a mother, as we will come to know our cross necklace twisting female of two children. Who now sinks back in her car chair melting into it's leather. The exhausted and stressed out woman was now relieved to release from her mouth the words she had been so desperately trying to hold back. The look of utter disdain and almost that of complete dejection in her is similar to that of someone who had just vomited out the entire contents of ones stomach. The woman collects herself, as if coming out of some sort of trance, and proclaims to her children sitting in the back seat behind her in their family mini van.

"I'm sorry my dear boys, I don't know what's come over me. It must have just been the enthusiasm of the lord."

For you see, the family had just left their weekly visit to their Protestant church and were very much so filled up with the spirit of the lord. The sermon today was not only heard by every member of their parish, but also by a new friend, whom we have now come to know as Simon.

"So, we can keep him then? Can we mother?"

Shouting enthusiastically from the other side of the back seat of the car was her youngest son, still sitting in his car seat probably not a day over five years old. In his hands he held what appeared to be the smallest, sweetest, and tiniest of all little mice the world has ever seen. It too had the smallest and beadiest little blue eyes like the boys mother, which was eventually what caved her female heart with it's cuteness, then the normal reaction of hers to freak out when a rodent is in her prescience. So she allowed her son to keep it as a pet for the short time being, assuming it would just run away eventually out of its own accord. How her son had come into possession of it, she could only know by the story that her youngest child had given her. That the mouse had simply approached him inside the church and actually spoke to him and told him that he wanted to be his friend. This led her to simply believe this story to be a fabrication of her child's expansive imagination, and rather he had acquired it in some sort of mouse trap possibly set up inside the old church her family had been visiting for generations.

"Of course my dear, but this will be you and your brother's responsibility, you'll be the ones to take care of him and most of all, make sure he doesn't get loose!"

The child laughed and clapped with glee as his mother backed the mini van out of the church parking lot and began their short travel home. They were a local kind of family that had been around in the community for years upon years. Deeply linked with their religion and local community family after family. The necklace that hung this silver metal cross from her neck was a gift you see, from her mother who got it from her mother's mother and so on down the line many years ago. Traced back to many previous generation so far back in her lineage that it's most likely roots were her ancestors when they made the pilgrimage to America on the Mayflower with their Puritan religious views.

The trip home may have been short, but the mother kept a keen and close watch on her two children traveling in just the seat behind her. Not making any notice whatsoever of any traffic that may have been going on of importance in front of her. Instead rather, completely fixated on the opposite side of her head was her bright blue beady eyes, one on each child sitting on the opposite side the other in the back seat. Glaring on the furthest side of her eye sockets are her pupils in her absolute full stretched looking peripheral vision, just like she was some kind of weird looking fish or lizard stretching her eyes, gazing upon her children like a hawk. This was abnormal behavior to her which kept her vigilant as ever, because the youngest son was always the good one. Always seemed to love and care, the eldest was always the black sheep. Always linked to Sin and Sacrifice. These thoughts of favoritism between her children that she has, have and forever will be the slight blemishes that exist in the deepest and darkest parts of her usual good beating heart.

When they shortly arrive home after a seven minute and six second drive, all parties retreat from the car and rush to enter the home. Anyone who's ever been to church knows the feeling of arriving home after its over, and being able to strip off those dress clothes and escape the jumpsuit like prison uniform they force upon you. Everyone escapes somewhere into separate rooms within the home to accomplish this goal. The mother retreats first to the bathroom to relieve herself and freshen up. While washing her hands and staring into the mirror she can slightly begin to feel the cross resting between her bosom begin to heat up. She begins to feel a burning sensation on the area of her bosom where the cross rests. The face of the woman is in pain as it feels like it's melting her skin as if it had been dipped in acid, burning like the core of a raging fire. Before she can react she hears a vicious scream from her youngest son. So loud that it shatters the mirror she sits staring in front of into a million glass pieces. She reacts quickly, to the cry of her favorite son and ignores the spraying of the glass.

When the distressed parent finally arrives into her youngest child's room, she finds his pet mouse, dead and bleeding on the floor. A mutilated mess of blood and guts slain about all over the place like a murder crime scene. Attacked by an unknown stray black cat that must have sneaked its way into her sons room. From behind her in the doorway, suddenly startling the whole lot of the group in the room including the cat even, is a tall older man looking relatively to be the same age as the mother. He surprises her the most with a very deep and passionate kiss. He then follows that by screaming into her mouth and escaping from the tip of his lips once they touched hers, in a very dark and maniacal manner.

"His name is SIMON!"

The rest of the family looks shocked, but then the youngest son is eventually excited to see his father and embraces them all in a family group hug. The boy, who was once startled by the cat and in love with that little mouse. Suddenly paid no attention to his tiny creature friend, but now seemed more interested in his larger replacement. It was as if the mouse had just been immediately replaced by the cat with no shock over its death or feelings of remorse.

"I sure love it when you all go to church, then I have the entire house to myself to watch football! Hey son, do you like your new pet. I just got him down at that new pet store on main street. Your new cat, Simon?"

"I love him, thank you daddy!"

The father and youngest son exit the room, wrestling and hugging each other as they escape to the living room to continue rough housing. The mother, feels compelled to exit but doesn't because of some reason that compels her to stay. She grasps at her chest to find the silver metal cross missing from her chain necklace. She panics and frantically searches about the room looking for where it could have went. Eventually she finds it, covered in the blood and guts from where it must have came. Inside the dead mouse? She retrieves it from off the floor as pieces of hair and blood drip off it's edge back onto the floor. Simon the cat, she sees now and locks eyes with in a deep stare. The tiny beady little blue eyes now staring back at her, just as hers star back at it. Just as if staring in the mirror like she had done just seconds ago before the commotion of this cat brought her to her youngest child's room.

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